


Sin City

by cantonforking



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Dean Winchester, Demon Sam Winchester, M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-07
Updated: 2011-07-07
Packaged: 2017-10-23 13:07:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/250621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cantonforking/pseuds/cantonforking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A remix of the episode <i>Sin City</i> [03x04] but this time the Winchesters are not the hunters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sin City

These are the caps that gave birth to this fic:  
[  
](http://pics.livejournal.com/jerkbitchbaby/pic/00001a8r/) _From Sin City [03x04] and You Can't Handle The Truth [06x06]_

The demon is caught in her Devil’s Trap, she knows it, he knows it. Still he’s just sitting calmly on the dusty carpet, staring up at her with soft brown eyes. There’s almost a smirk on his face, barely more than a smile, but it so clearly says _Iknowsomethingyoudon’tknow_.

“I wouldn’t look so happy if I were you.” She throws the words at him, needing to fill the silence in the stuffy basement. She was so sure she had him as soon as he was in that trap and oh he was going to pay for what he did to Ritchie. She hadn’t expected the hellspawn to have enough freaky power to pull down the roof, block her escape _and_ conjure up wind to whisk away her exorcism. “I’ve got a partner on his way and he’ll make you bleed.”

“We’ll see,” he replied calmly, blinking lazily up at her. “We’ll see if he gets here first.”

“W-what?” A shiver of fear runs down her spine and the look that flashes in his eyes, something dark, waiting to pounce, freezes her between fight and flight. “You have a partner?”

“What? You thought I was alone?” The smirk (it’s definitely a smirk now) widens. “You thought it was just little old me? You know, back when I wasn’t-”

“Satan’s bitch.” She can’t stop herself spitting the words at him. That’s what they are after all. They’re not human anymore. They might wear the skin of creatures they once were, they might look and even act like them, but a white coat doesn’t make you a doctor.

“-when I wasn’t dead, I was going to say.” He doesn’t look phased by her insult, just shrugs it off like a splatter of blood. “When I wasn’t dead, hunters were more observant that they are these days.”

“How would you know?” she hissed at him.

“Do you think you’ve saved enough people to go to Heaven despite all the people you killed?” It takes a moment of staring at his smug face before she realises what he means. He was a hunter once. He was like her. _Once_. The smirk fades into a soft, almost bitter smile at the shock on her face. “Yeah, thought I might make it into Heaven.” He heaved a sigh and flopped backwards, a low thunk sounding as his head hit the floor. “As you can tell I was wrong.”

“But-” the words stick in her throat. She can’t understand. From a hunter to a demon. The hunter to the hunted. “Why?” His eyes flutter shut for a moment at her words.

“Why what?” She doesn’t answer, can’t answer. “Why am I like this?” When his eyes open they are blacker than the many starless nights she has spent burning corpses. “Why am I the bad guy?”

“Yeah.” The word manages to slip out, more sound than structure.

“Who says I am the bad guy? You think these-” he waved a hand at the cold black orbs “-make me a bad guy? Do you think a ghostly apparition is going to kill you just because you can see through it?”

“I don’t understand,” she replied with a frown. “Ghosts are, you know, they’re not meant to be here. We have to put them to rest.”

“And I don’t belong here?” He stood up, slinking to the edge of the Devil’s Trap. She was reminded of lions pacing in cages, wild eyes glaring at the world, anger and sorrow in one glance. “I don’t deserve to live in the world _I saved_ , just because my moral compass doesn’t have a North anymore?” She took a step back, unprepared for the outburst.

“We’re not doing anything wrong here,” he hissed. “So we opened a bar to let people relax a bit and it turned into Sin City? We’re not harming people. We just want to spend our eternity in peace.”

“Tell that to Ritchie,” she spat, knowing that somewhere her friend’s blood was warming the dust on the floor.

“He was going to kill us,” he replied patiently. “We simply struck first.”

“Why should I believe you?” It was the million dollar question, she knows it, he knows it. She could see him pull away, eyes flicking to the wall as if it held answers. After a few moments he smiled, dimples hovering on his cheeks.

“Do you know the Winchesters?” When his eyes found hers again they were once more rings of white, brown and back.

“Yes,” she replied cautiously. “They’re legends.”

“What do you know about them?” For a second there was a strange curiosity in his words.

“Well it’s mainly rumours but people say they’re the greatest hunters there ever were. They stopped the Apocalypse and detoxed Castiel.”

A sudden shout from above cuts off any reply. “ **JO**?” She’s never been so happy to hear her name before. “ **JOANNA**?”

“Your name is Jo?” He’s staring at her with a strange look in his eyes, something distant and almost sad. Jo just nods. “I knew a Jo once.” Something cold slips into his voice then, face hardening, closing in. “She died trying to save the world.”

“ **JOANNA**?” Once again their conversation is cut short by her name.

“Well it looks like you win.” His face is expressionless. Turning away from the demon, she looks up through the grill in the ceiling.

“ **BRAD**. Down here!” She can’t stop a smile of relief when Brad’s face appears above her, cut into sections by the metal bars. “The basement caved in.”

“Jo, hey.” The relief is evident in his voice. “Hold on. We’re coming.”

“Who’s we,” she replies with a frown.

“I’m here with the Father.” Jo whirls round, searching the demon for any sign, any suggestion that the Father isn’t quite a man of God. He’s as expressionless as before, pokerfaces apparently one of his specialities.

“Brad, be careful,” she says, turning her face up again. There’s warning in her tone, enough that he will hear her unspoken explanation of the threat. They work well like that, her and Brad, words passing between them without a sound. He doesn’t reply but she can already see the fresh layers of caution in his steps as Brad disappears.

There’s silence for a few long seconds and both demon and human hold their breath, straining to catch a hint of the world upstairs. A gunshot is the first sound, followed shortly by smashing glass. There are no words spoken, no shouts to betray who lives and who is slowly bleeding out.

A few seconds more and the noise has moved closer towards the house; a door splintering against the insides of the walls, almost directly above them. Footsteps, creaking. The breath shudders from Jo’s lungs as suddenly the pile of debris shudders. There’s something outside breaking in.

The next blow sends rocks tumbling down and she knows that the demon was wrong. She hasn’t won.

The Father stumbles down over the rocks and she is struck by how human he looks. So painfully human. Instinct takes over and without really devising a game plan she rushes at the Father. In the back of her mind she’s not surprised when she ends up skidding across the concrete and slamming into the unforgiving wall.

The Father turns away from her almost instantly, eyes fixing on his softly smiling counterpart as he draws towards Jo’s captured demon. For a moment she thinks they might have forgotten the rest of the world enough for him to blindly walk into the Devil’s Trap but there’s still practiced awareness in the demon’s mind.

“Stop!” The Father freezes, inches from the chalk lines, green eyes narrowing as he glares at the Devil’s Trap. With strength that is so far from human, so distant from what Jo knows he once was, the Father slams a fist into the ground, concrete cracking under the force.

As soon as he is standing again, the demons are touching, hands fisted in each others clothes. Jo watches as their lips press hungrily together, as if they have been apart for years rather than hours.

Trying not to wince at the pain sparking through her body, Jo hauls herself up as the two demons finally separate. The Father steps forward, just managing to put his body slightly in front of his… his what? Lover? Partner? Jo shakes the thoughts from her mind, trying not to let the slight lurch of disgust in her stomach cloud her face. The corruption, the darkness, in these two creatures is almost tangible, like a black cloud surrounding them and sucking out the light. Part of her can’t comprehend how these were ever clean, human souls.

“You two?”

“For centuries,” the Father replies calmly, his voice rough. “We’ve been to Hell and back, literally.”

“Leave her be.” Jo can’t stop the shock showing on her face as the brown-eyed demon softly speaks, eyes not leaving his counterpart, muscled body angled towards his smaller partner. The Father doesn’t seem to listen though. A hand closes tight around Jo’s throat and she can’t find the air to scream as her feet leave the ground. “Don’t kill her. Let’s just go.”

For a second there is something almost empathetic in his voice, something so strangely human. “Please.” Jo is reminded of stories she heard long ago, those not quite confirmed as fact or fiction. Stories that told of vampires who wouldn’t drain a human, of ghosts that smiled at hunters and warned them of dangers, the demon who saved the Winchesters.

“Please, Dean. She didn’t hurt me.” Sam and Dean Winchester. _doyouknowtheWinchesters?_ The hunters who saved the world. _theworldIsaved._ The hunters who died at the feet of the newly arisen Lucifer, on a field soaked in blood, the liquor of war. They’re standing in front of her, the protectors of the human race. Sam pleading for her life, Dean trying to take it away.

Somewhere in a crazed corner of her brain, her oxygen deprived mind is laughing hysterically as it puts another cross on the tally. Sin City, governed by the homosexual, incestuous, demonic, murderous, church preachers. In her memories the legend of the Winchesters is burning. There’s a hand around her throat but that’s not the only reason why she can’t breathe.

“Please,” Sam’s voice has an edge of desperation now. Then Jo feels the fingers around her neck starting to loosen slightly.

A gunshot echoes through the basement, bouncing off the walls, hollow and cold. Jo falls to the ground as the fingers completely let go. Gold sparks lighting him up like a disco ball from the inside, Dean does the dance of death. Standing in the pile of rubble, Brad watches with a disturbing calm, Colt in hand. The Colt that the Winchesters left behind.

Sam is staring at his brother’s body with wide, scared eyes, devastation twisting his features. He looks like a child rather than a demon, broken and lost without his brother. Brad adjusts his aim as Sam looks up. Jo is sure he is looking down the barrel of the Colt, sure he knows this is the end. The demon doesn’t move. Doesn’t protest. Sam just closes his eyes and waits.

“ **BRAD, WAIT**.” Her scream comes too late and the basement bounces the gunshot off its walls, flinging it across the room again and again like Death’s ghostly memo. Jo watches as Sam spasms and jerks, mouth gaping in a silent cry. His eyes snap open, soft brown like melted chocolate. Then they flutter shut as he falls to the ground.

They lay in the middle of the Devil’s trap, blood spreading out to blur the white lines. The backs of their hands are brushing, barely any contact, just enough to know the other is there. Sam’s head is tilted towards his other half and Dean back towards him.

A splinter of sorrow lodges itself in Jo’s heart, almost scaring her with its strange, unexpected ache. They reminded her of lions broken loose from cages, eyes wild with fright and confusion, blundering for an escape as the security officer levelled the gun. She had backed away form the corpse of the yellow King, trying to avoid from getting blood on her hands.

“What?” Brad was looking at her with raised eyebrows on a confused face. “They weren’t friends of yours were they?”

“No.” She replied. _Just demons. Just demons who once saved the world._


End file.
